


Twenty-Five

by misschristmas



Category: The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misschristmas/pseuds/misschristmas
Summary: Steve is a guest on the Late Show; he arrives early to spend some quality time with his oldest friend.





	Twenty-Five

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and including quotes from [this Late Show interview.](https://youtu.be/Q8PrCvWmrPM)

_"We've come a long way, baby."_

A long way, indeed. Steve arrives at the Late Show studio at 9:54 in the morning, conspicuously early - so early, in fact, that Stephen is still making his way through New York traffic. Steve texts him, settled comfortably into a plush chair in the green room where a nervous assistant has stowed him with gratuitous apologies. Stephen grins at the text, promises he'll be there soon. 

_"I feel like it's time to have some pretense in my life."_

They spend the day shooting the shit, lazily reminiscing whilst Stephen's writers flit in and out of his office seeking approval for one joke after another. He loves his dedicated staff, but today he's flippant about the state of the monologue, the promos he has scheduled, the lively cadence of a show pulling itself together one stitch at a time. Steve is here; Steve was there in the beginning, and he'll be there in the end, so today - this day in the middle - he owes to Steve. 

_"You can do anything."_

Throughout the afternoon they peruse the long hall of their memories together, until, without either of them consciously suggesting it, the two men are singing the old bass line from a show they did in Chicago twenty-five years ago. They are both laughing, amazed, a bit breathless, when they finish the tune. Steve pauses for a heartbeat. He asks if Stephen remembers that first time. 

_"There's no one I'd rather perform with than you."_

Which first time? The first time Steve winked at him from across a party just to see him blush? The first time Steve kissed him in the darkness behind the curtains in the middle of a show, his hands raking his hair to comedic effect when Stephen inevitably returned to the stage, late for his cue? The first time Steve growled beneath him in bed, young, with eyes too kind for a jester, and Stephen, younger, with eyes too keen for a clown? 

Stephen's reply is barely audible, his mouth turned up in a crooked smile of nostalgia. Of course he remembers. But Steve would have to be more specific. 

_"We've had a lot of fun together over the years."_

After the show, his office door locked, Stephen is on his knees with his mouth warm around his oldest friend, his glasses on the way he knows Steve likes to see him. Steve rolls his hips, setting the same rhythm they've known for decades now, gasping sporadically whenever Stephen's tongue flickers at the tip of his head. His hands in Stephen's hair, his watery blue eyes locked with Stephen's dark brown, Steve begins to whimper as the man before him speeds his movements, taking him deep into his throat while he has the audacity to look smug. Steve almost laughs, but the sound that Stephen elicits is a strangled groan, heady and demanding. Stephen finally closes his eyes, concentrates on the things he knows by heart, the secret ways to bring Steve over the edge, the grip of his thumbs on hips, his reverberating hum around Steve's cock swallowed to the base, the little boxes he happily ticks time and time again just to hear the name they share spring like something sacred from Steve's lips. 

Steve shudders, hard, fiercely gripping Stephen's hair, and he gives the man their name, over and over again, a fountain of gifts. 

 

Twenty-five years, and they still can't get enough.


End file.
